


The Fire and The Frost

by lizizard



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy Has Feelings, But Not Much, Doctor Clarke, F/M, Finn's a douche, Happy Ending, Minor Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Minor Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, My First Work in This Fandom, Octavia Ships It, Please be gentle, Poetry, RMS Titanic, Titanic!AU, True Love, be prepared for sap and sex, bellamy isn't jack, coldness will ensue, i have a thing for wealthy!bellamy, i've got issues, note: clarke isn't rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizizard/pseuds/lizizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clarke?”<br/>She turned towards him. His eyes were serious, heavy.<br/>“Do you want to know why I haven’t found a wife yet?”<br/>She hesitated, scared of his answer. She wanted him. </p><p> </p><p>OR: The Bellarke Titanic AU that Absolutely No One Asked For</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke Griffin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first fic, so be gentle. 
> 
> Also: I do not speak Spanish, Russian, or German, so if you see errors in my foreign-language bits, please let me know. 
> 
> None of this is 1st person, but the third is limited to either Clarke or Bellamy. Chapters are named with who the third is limited to.
> 
> Poetry is all Bellamy: it will have his name before it.
> 
> I am a sucker for the Gone series, so some of the names are pulled from there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

Bellamy Blake

“Save me from The Fire,

Save her from The Frost.”

he begged.

 

 

And the night echoed:

 

.  .  .  ---   ---   ---  .  .  . 

_s a v e    o u r    s o u l s_

 

 

Clarke Griffin

It was a dream: a vision in glossy black steel and billowing white towers. The ship's form was striking against the clear, windy sky, and it looked like a gigantic beacon of hope for the destitute and desperate that crowded below her glistening decks.  The dock was crowded, cluttered with anxious people awaiting their preliminary physicals, packed-in, suffocating Clarke and Finn, all straining to get to the edge of the broad street to board the ship. Clarke was beaming despite the crowd, eager to board _Titanic_ and her new life. She held the heavy leather suitcase that contained everything she owned in one hand and Finn's steady palm in the other.

Like every other soul on the dock, Clarke looked up at the hulking beast, hopeful and in awe of the most magnificent ship man had ever built. 

Everyone had heard the stories of the White Star Liners, with their elegant furnishings and spacious cabins where distinguished passengers drank sparkling champagne and took strolls along the long decks, but Clarke wasn't drawn by the promise of luxury and relaxation, but the promise of a new life in America. 

Right after his proposal, Finn had presented Clarke with the tickets, telling her he'd found a legal job in New York and that he wanted them to be married in the New World. Clarke agreed,  thrilled to flee the peasantry she was confined to in her small farm in Germany, and the two began to plan their new life in America.

Their tickets read “Third Class” in small black type, as neither Clarke nor Finn had much money. They both had lived in a small farming village in Germany's fertile countryside for their whole lives and had grown up working the potato fields hip-to-hip. Finn had been fortunate enough to attend a small college, where he studied law and ethics for a few years,  while Clarke remained with her parents.

 

When Finn had returned,  he proposed and the pair moved to Berlin. It was hard finding work in the city,  so when the job offer came from the US, Finn bought the tickets for Titanic and began planning.

And so, the pair stood among the throngs of the third-class passengers, waiting to be inspected for illness and to cross the Atlantic, both of them barely twenty, and neither prepared for the adventure that lay ahead.

"Glauben Sie, New York mit Gold gepflastert werden?" Do you think New York will be paved with gold?  Finn spoke sarcastically into her ear, almost shouting above the rowdy passengers. Clarke laughed at his ridiculous smile and comment, and replied with a scoff in crisp English with a light pat to his cheek.

“You're an idiot.” 

They made their way towards the men with clipboards in White Star Lines uniforms, watching as each nervous third-class passenger had their throat examined, eyes checked, and ticket marked. Up to Clarke’s left, she saw the first-class passengers being picked up at this port being greeted with smiles and luggage-boys, the women all dressed in rich, deep colors and lavish jewelry and the men in pressed suits and with cigars hanging off their lips. 

Clarke suppressed any jealousy she may have felt, reminding herself that she was going towards her new life, where she would be happy and surrounded by opportunity. But, she couldn’t help but envy the current first-class boarders, a family of three: a young, sparkling woman with dark tresses weaved back from her bright eyes and a handsome man next  to her, with beautiful dark skin and a bright smile, holding what could have only been the pair’s child on his hip. How Clarke longed for a child as beautiful as the smiling boy up there on the first-class deck. But, in Berlin, children were an impossibility due to Finn’s lack of steady income, and Clarke had yet to conceive. Perhaps in America, she thought to herself, she would be gifted with the means to raise a child. 

Clarke and Finn finally arrived at the front of the increasingly eager crowd, standing on the long wooden walkway precariously stretched between the pavement and a port in the ship’s steel hull. Finn presented the two bright tickets to the inspector with a curt nod. The inspector looked the couple over with a flick of the eyes and pulled Clarke towards him to look at her face. She recoiled and tensed up. “Do you speak English?” he grunted out his heavily-accented cockney as he pulled her lower eyelid down with his thumb and peered into her face. 

“Yes, a little,” she responded, pulling back as he let her face go. 

“Good. Makes my job a lot fucking easier. So many of you don’t speak a lick of the stuff. How do y’all expect to fare in ‘merica?” He looked down at their tickets, examining their names. “You two are from… Russia?” 

“Germany,” corrected Finn, placing a protective hand around Clarke’s waist. The inspector looked back up at Finn. 

“You two are good to pass. Stay out’a trouble, and away from any of those Irish bastards.” Finn nodded and ushered Clarke past the inspector. Clarke felt a wave of relief as she heard the man behind them call for the next passenger. 

Finn took her hand and squeezed it with a confident smile. 

“Bereit?” 

_Ready_? 

Clarke nodded, and the two stepped past the port-frame, off of the wooden walkway, and onto the bright ceramic tile of Titanic.


	2. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

Titanic's hull was his anchor,  
huge and gilded  
with blemishes  
that spoke of  
human effort and  
very un-human heft.

And he was sure that  
the ship was made of  
exactly   
what his life  
was.

Empty rooms   
full to bursting with  
people  
with eyes like  
diamonds  
and sticky voices like  
the stock market   
floor.

And not even Octavia,   
Lincoln,   
or Caine their son  
could fill  
those   
burstingly  
empty   
rooms.

 

 

Bellamy Blake

Bellamy owned the car they were riding in; his money had been used to make the purchase. But the car was Caine’s, there was no question. He was a comedian at this age, just turned four, his mind now grappling humor. He sat in his uncle’s lap, facing his parents and reciting a silly adventure story about dragons and pasta.

Bellamy was half-listening, content to let Octavia and Lincoln serve as the audience while he watched the city pass by. They passed one of his company’s buildings, newly erected and painted a bright tope and red, _Blake and Taylor_ scrawled in giant type across the veranda. Bellamy watched it pass the car window as he felt a tug on his lapels.

“Bell? Will the boat we’re going on sink?” Caine chirped, though he knew the answer to his frequently asked question.

“No, Caine. You know the ship won’t sink. Mama, Pop, and Uncle Bellamy won’t let it sink,” Bellamy reassured the boy with a small smile and a squeeze to his waist. Caine grinned, worries gone, and turned back to his parents to continue his tale.

The car halted, and the chauffeur turned over his shoulder and informed, “We’ve arrived, Sir.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy told the driver offhandedly.

“Alright, Caine sweetheart, what did we say about strangers on the ship?” Octavia picked her son up off Bellamy’s lap and Bellamy opened the car door.

“Don’ say hullo o’ tell dem abou’ my dinosaws.”

“That’s right, love. And _no_ leaning over the railings, right?”

“Right!”

The four of them were escorted through the throngs of others waiting to board via the first-class boardwalk up to the ship by a White Star Lines employee with their luggage on a metal cart.

He spotted, on his way up the walkway, a glittering gold curl and a flash of white teeth looking up at him. And his world shattered in two.

The girl looking up from the sea of faces was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She had eyes that reflected the sky’s vast beauty and a smile that could summon every power in existence. He was stunned for a moment, tempted to force his way down to her, but was snapped back to reality when she looked away.

They had arrived at the hull of the ship by the time he had regained his composure, and Captain Andrews, the head Captain of the ship, stood to greet his family.

“Welcome, Mr. Blake,” Captain Andrews shook Bellamy’s hand firmly, “to _Titanic_.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Bellamy gave the man a curt nod and a smirk. “I trust you’ll keep my family safe.”

“Absolutely, sir. You are our honored guests and loyal supporters of the White Star Line. Your family’s safety and comfort is our priority. If any of you need anything,” Cpt. Andrews winked at Caine and said, “or if there are dragons that need to be slain, you contact me directly, sir.” Caine giggled and hid behind Octavia’s skirt.

“I trust you, sir, with my family. That is no small thing,” Lincoln said as he shook Cpt. Andrews’ hand firmly.

“Thank you, sir. We will do everything to give your family a wonderful experience.”

Bellamy thanked the man with another terse nod and strode through the white frame cut out of the shining hull, his family trailing behind.

The foyer beyond the entrance was broad and gilded in gold, money, and superiority. The passengers who drifted around him were, to say the least, _frosted_ in pearls and powder.

Octavia dressed nothing like these women, opting for a plain navy cinch-waist, but was ten times as beautiful, even with her hair tied back and her face clean of makeup. She was unabashedly powerful and had a smile that shattered the room when she released it. Lincoln, too, was dressed very differently than the other men, wearing trousers and a pressed work-shirt instead of tails.

The pair had learned to deal with the glares about their colors, and had decided that the only opinion that mattered was their son’s. They were happy and comfortable despite their isolation from higher society. They had no time to worry about society, anyway.

Bellamy, however, had an image to uphold.

He was always— _always_ —clean-shaven and dressed immaculately. His hair was always combed into glorious submission, and his shoes always gleamed. He was casual, but stunningly so.

He was a businessman, after all.

The Grand Hall passed by in all of its decorum quite quickly as they were led to their suite by a White Star Line employee.


	3. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

It was overwhelming.  Though the halls that wound through the ship were crisp white and man-made, they felt like tunnels underground to Clarke as she and Finn made their way toward their cabin.   
Their small room had two sets of bunk-beds covered in green wool blankets and a small sink in the corner. The other two occupants had yet to arrive, so Clarke swung her suitcase up to the top bunk on the left. She climbed up the cold metal ladder and plopped down, kicking her laced boots off, trying to hit Finn in the head.

Finn dodged the first shoe, but not the second.  
Through his fingers that held his bumped nose, he smiled at his fiancé and playfully hit her leg in retaliation.  

"We should start to speak in English, Leibe. It will help," Finn told her with a heavy accent. 

She nodded. "I like Deutch more." She paused,  working out her next English phrase,  "We should go to explore this ship."

And so they ventured back out of their little room, hand in hand. 

They discovered that there was a Russian family in the cabin next to theirs. A father, Viktor, and three children: two six-year-old twins named Drake and Darius and a daughter named Raven, who introduced herself as nineteen.  She had intense features and warm hands, but she eyed Finn a little too much for Clarke's liking. 

“What will you do in America?” Raven asked across the small cabin. She sat on one bottom bunk and Clarke sat with Finn on the other, facing the German couple.

“We will stay in New York. I have work arranged, and we will be married in a few weeks in an American church,” Finn announced proudly, taking Clarke’s hand.

“Will you stay in New York as well, Viktor, or will you go west?” Clarke asked.

“Probably the twins and I will move to the north, away from the big city,” Victor responded while washing his hands in the small sink on the wall to the left. “I want to farm, not go into business.”

“Papa is letting me stay in New York to work,” Raven chirped, excited. She smiled brightly at Finn. “We will have to stay in touch.”

“Yes,” Clarke replied, defensive against Raven’s advances towards Finn, “well, we would like to go look around the ship more.” She stood, pulling Finn up to leave.

“Oh! May I come? I’d like to see the boiler rooms,” Raven exclaimed brightly and stood to follow the couple.

Finn smiled at her, oblivious to the daggers Clarke was shooting at him, and responded, “Of course! Let’s go explore!”

The three ventured out, one fuming, one beaming, and one lusting.

 

They’d visited the boiler rooms first, Raven begging to descend to the belly of the mechanical beast. She was in awe, her jaw hanging slack at the sight of gargantuan hot steel pistons and greased cogs the size of horses. She bustled about, mumbling to herself and occasionally asking distracted questions as she watched the propeller fixtures spin on gear-reduction machines as big as their entire cabin.

When they left, she continued to gab about the boiler-rooms and the mechanical processes that were occurring below deck. Finn seemed fascinated by her knowledge, listening to her endless gushing about “modern technology” with interest.

Clarke began to hate Raven.

They visited the first-class dining room next, peeping in to see the waiters set the tables for a lavish dinner. It was grand and spacious, with low ceilings but a vast floor covered in at least fifty tables, each sitting twelve.

They were ushered out quickly when spotted, and ventured out onto the sunny deck just outside the dining hall to watch the boat leave port.

There was a great creaking as the ship began to pull away from the dock, her front swinging out to face open waters.

It was exhilarating, and it hit Clarke that she really was leaving her home and her life.

They waved at those on the dock who stood in the gleam of the ship, even though they had no one to wave to.

After the faces on the dock were no longer visible, the three made their way to the third-class dining area. It was crowded and loud, with a line for food at the front and a sea of laughing, contented people sitting in clumps at long wooden tables.

The three weaved their way between the raucous groups of third-class passengers toward the food line where waiters were ladling out scrumptious-looking food from steaming platters and vats.  Irishmen cackled in a corner to Clarke’s left, while the other German families milled about to her right.

Finn’s hand found its way to Clarkes lower back, possessively leading her up to the food line. Clarke was a little annoyed by its presence, as she suspected he was feeling guilty for his thoughts about Raven and was trying to reassure her of his ownership. But…

If Clarke was being honest with herself, she didn’t love Finn.

Clarke had yet to beget a child, and it had put hesitation into Finn’s resolve to marry her.

Really, he was just who she was expected to be with, and nothing more. She enjoyed his company, sure, but she didn’t crave his presence.

And, Clarke had realized that he’d been acting odd recently, like he was searching for something. Like he was desperate for something _more_.

Clarke was oddly okay with that.

She was not as angry about Finn’s obvious lust for Raven as she should have been.

 

Clarke got an assortment of hearty food and sat down at a section of a relatively free table. Finn followed shortly afterwards, sitting across from her. He looked around, assessing the room with his characteristic smirk on his face.

After a minute, he looked to Clarke. “You know, Clarke. You are so much better off than all these people.”

Clarke continued eating her potatoes, not looking up at Finn’s comment.

“Yeah? And why is that?” She asked coolly, removed.

“Because you have me,” he smirked again, curdling Clarke’s blood.

“And you are all I’ll ever need, right?” 

Finn missed every ounce of bitterness Clarke through at him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Clarke woke with Finn’s face tucked snuggly in the crook of her neck, his hands clutching at her stomach in his sleep. And she woke to furious knocking at the door.

She pulled out of Finn’s embrace, leaving him sleeping on the bed while she wrapped a dressing gown around herself.

It was Raven pounding at the cabin’s entrance, looking desperate and fearful when Clarke pulled open the door. Clarke was taken aback, but stood her ground against the girl at the door, not attempting to hide the evidence of her activities the night prior with the very undressed Finn, currently snoring on their bed in a very unbecoming way, and covered only by a sheet.

“Oh, Clarke, please— p-please help us!” Raven was out of breath and looked terrified. The look of true fear on Raven’s face snapped Clarke out of her current desire to do battle with her, and into her nurturing, concerned state-of-mind.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s,” Raven gulped, trying to compose herself enough to get the words out, “It’s Drake. He’s sick, terribly sick, and father thinks they won’t let him into America if he’s got Scarlet Fever! He’ll have to return home, Clarke, he can’t go home, we’ve no money to send with him, and father can’t go back and Darius has to be moved so he won’t catch, too, and we don’t know if we can go to the ship’s doctors, because what will we do if he’s got to be quarantined—“

“Take me to him,” Clarke interrupted Raven’s hysterics. She called back into the room as she tied her robe tighter, “Finn, sich anzuziehen.” _Finn, get dressed._

 

The boy was sick. Clarke new without even touching his small, shaking form that the fever was one that would decimate his body. She was not sure if he would live.

Viktor hovered, a hand covering his mouth as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Sir, my mother was our town’s nurse back home, and I assisted her often. Will you allow me to look at Drake? I can tell you if he has come down with Scarlet Fever, and can try to draw the fever down from his head.” Viktor nodded, his eyes not seeing Clarke, but staying locked onto Drake.

Clarke jumped into action, pulling the covers away from Drake in a broad gesture and then tying her long curls away from her face.

“Raven, I need rags and cold water. Tell Finn to get me my kit from my bag in the room,” she ordered while she removed the boy’s socks from his feverish skin.

She felt his cheeks, and, as she predicted, the boy was an inferno, his skin wet and burning. She pulled down the sheets and ripped open his shirt, revealing the bright-red, splotchy skin beneath.

The boy had Scarlet fever, Clarke determined as Raven returned with a basin with water and rags. Clarke worked quickly, wanting to buy the boy as much time as possible. There was a chance he would live, but Clarke knew that even if he lived he would not be allowed entry into America.

“He has Scarlet Fever,” Clarke announced to the room. Viktor let out a sob.

“Are you sure?” Raven asked, holding Darius’s small hand in her own. Darius looked at his twin with terror, as he realized that his brother’s life was at stake.

The weight of the situation fell heavy upon Clarke at that moment, as she realized that something had to be done for the boy, and quickly.

Clarke responded as she began to wash the boy’s face off, “Yes. The boy will die without medication. I am so sorry, Viktor.”

Viktor was in turmoil, his face contorted with worry and despair. “Where can we get medication? We cannot tell the doctors on the boat that he is ill. They will quarantine him. They will hold him back, treat him like a monster, not let him in…” Viktor began to stutter and break down.

Finn burst into the room at that point, clutching Clarke’s medical kit in his hand. He rushed to hand it to her, nodding in greeting to the room.

“What can we do, Clarke?” Raven asked, her voice trembling. “We cannot take him to the doctor. He will die without medicine. We can’t just--”

“I’ll get him the medicine,” Clarke interrupted. She had an idea forming, one that might get her in a lot of trouble.

“What do you mean, Clarke?” Finn had fear in his tone, as he knew Clarke, and he knew that she wasn’t above breaking the rules to help people.

Clarke turned and turned to look at Viktor, her face—and mind—set.

“I’ll get him the medicine.”


	4. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

The cabin was too large.

Octavia loved it.

And Caine pranced   
about, touching  
the linens and  
wood like a pirate's treasure  
and he was there to  
plunder.

But it was empty  
like the golden halls  
like the humming electric lights  
like the dancing  
like the smoking and gambling  
like the words of excitement and hope,

like his life.

 

And the one thing  
he held to  
was the girl on the dock  
with the full curls  
and the gentle smile  
that looked like she had  
something to   
live for. 

 

Bellamy Blake

 Dinner was an affair on White Star Lines. They all were dressed in their best clothing that night as they enjoyed the magnificent spread of food before them. Bellamy marveled at the chefs on this boat. Their caviar and spinach was beyond incredible. The logistics and calculations required to get the fresh caviar onto his plate for this evening out in the middle of the ocean were astronomical and Bellamy, as a business man, marveled at the work put into this small dish in front of him.

The table was packed with wealthy people whom Bellamy did not know. Octavia and Lincoln were across the table from him, Caine seated between them, struggling with his silverware.

“Like I said, Charlese,” Gerard McTaggert—whose name Bellamy had learned when he sat down— explained to his wife, who was seated to his left at the head of the table, “we are paying for the third-class passengers’ tickets! Do you think that White Star would ever be able to offer prices low enough for the immigrants below us to afford if we didn’t pay so much to be here?” Bellamy tried not to listen, but it was hard, as the old man was so loud. “We deserve to not have to interact with them at all. It’s ridiculous, having to share a deck with them. They’re vagrants! I won’t use the promenade until they’re gone. I’ve spoken to the Captain about it, and he says he’ll run it by the White Star Line administrator here on the ship. I’m sure he’ll agree with me. It’s our right.”

"And why is it our right, Mr. McTaggert?” Octavia said, a challenge creeping into her eyes.

“Why, young Ms. Blake—” McTaggert began condescendingly.

“It’s Mrs. Taylor,” interrupted Octavia.

“Yes. Of course.” Mr. McTaggert apologized, his eyes avoiding Lincoln and Caine. “You see… Ms. Taylor… We are wealthy. God has made us wealthy at birth. We are set apart from the poor for a reason, and money is the vehicle in which we are separated. We are—by God’s design—a higher caliber of person.”

It was at this point that Bellamy decided to interrupt and speak for the first time since they all sat down.

“ _I_ was born poor, Mr. McTaggert.”

The man spluttered for a moment, alarmed by Bellamy’s interjection. “What?”

“Our parents were house-servants in London.” Bellamy was blunt.

“I don’t understand your meaning, Mr. Blake.” McTaggert knew he was suddenly treading on thin ice. Bellamy was the wealthiest and most respected man on the ship, and possibly the richest man in Europe.

“When I was born, the Blake family had no money to its name. My parents died penniless.”

“Well then, sir,” McTaggert said with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood, “God must have changed his mind about you!” He burst out with a laugh and pounded the table at his own joke. The whole table joined in the laughter, except Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln.

“Cheers, Mr. Blake,” the old man said as he raised his glass towards Bellamy through a tight smirk.


	5. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

The idea rang clearly in her head. It was a simple plan, but one that involved considerable risk. She spent most of the day with Drake, monitoring him and trying to bring down his fever while she ironed out the details of her plan.

First, she would sneak up to the first-class deck. That in and of itself was going to pose a challenge, as she looked nothing like a first-class passenger.

Next, she would find the servant’s dressing room near the grand hall where meals were served and steal a waitress’s outfit.

She would then help serve dinner to the first-class passengers. As she served food, she would locate a passenger that she believed would be willing to help, and slip them a note that she needed help and to meet her after dinner on B deck.

She would then explain the situation and ask if the passenger would get some medicine from the first-class clinic. She knew that the clinic would not be suspicious if the one requesting medicine for a “sick relative in the US” was a first-class passenger and not a third-class immigrant.

The plan was the best she had with the limited time and resources she had available, so she decided to implement it.

At exactly six o’clock, an hour before dinner was to be served, Clarke was ready to go. She had set Raven up with clean cloth and water, and had instructed her to watch Drake’s pulse and temperature carefully. Finn was there, too, sitting on the opposite bed. Clarke wasn’t happy leaving him alone with Raven, but he had insisted on staying with the child. Viktor and Darius were at dinner in the mess hall.

And so, everything was in place. She had brushed out her hair and pulled it back into a slick tie like a servant’s, and was wearing her nicest clothes. She was ready.

The guard at the stairwell from deck C to deck B gave her no trouble, which struck Clarke as odd. He just smiled and gave her a “good luck” when she said that she was late for her shift as she ran up the stairs. She was now up to the first-class promenade, and could enter to the hallways that held the suites of some of the wealthiest people on the planet. She followed the posted signs toward the dining hall, stepping aside when a lavishly-dressed couple came laughing and strolling arm-in-arm. She recognized the man from the news. He was a steel-conglomerate tycoon from France. He had been in the news recently for scandal with his company and his mistress. Clarke couldn’t tell who was on his arm tonight, but she assumed that the girl holding onto him was not his wife. Clarke kept her eyes down.

When she finally found the dining hall, she took a right past the great panes of glass that looked into the slowly-filling dining room and found the servants’ prep area a few steps down the hall. Men and women in clean-pressed white shirts and starched black trousers were walking in and out, so she pushed into the room and began looking around.

Small numbered cubbies lined the walls. Some held uniforms, others were empty. There was a wall dividing the two sides—men and women, she guessed—so she walked to the left wall where a woman was reaching into a cubby for her trousers.

Clarke reached into the cubby labeled seventy-two and grabbed the uniform and set it on the bench behind her. Unabashedly, she began undressing.

The woman next to her, who looked maybe thirty, lifted her eyebrows when Clarke grabbed the uniform.  “Do you know who you’re serving tonight?” She asked with a small snicker and in a heavy Hispanic accent.

“No,” Clarke responded without looking at the other woman, pulling a trouser leg up to her thigh. “Who am I serving?”

“I heard tha seventy-two through eighty are serving Mr. Blake’s family tonight,” she said, expecting Clarke to be shocked.

Clarke wasn’t, as she didn’t recognize the name. She stopped buttoning her blouse to turn and look at the woman, who was half-dressed. “Who’s Mr. Blake?”

The woman’s jaw dropped.

“Bellamy? Bellamy Blake?” She prompted. Clarke tilted her head.

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“Bellamy Blake who owns half of New York and all of London? Bellamy Blake the tycoon? The man who owns Blake and Taylor?”

Still, Clarke did not recognize the name. She began to get nervous.

“Where are you from, child?” The woman asked, giving her an odd look.

“I’m from a small village in Germany,”

“Ah,” the woman said with a gentle smile. “Well, just know that the man that you are serving tonight is more powerful than God. Remember that, and don’t spill his food.”

With that, the woman gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and walked out of the dressing room into the kitchen.

Clarke panicked. She didn’t know how to serve food, much less how to serve it to someone more powerful than God. She sat, now fully dressed, on the bench and tried to compose herself. She focused on her breath and heartbeat, trying to calm down. She told herself that she was doing this to save the little boy who was sick two decks below. She felt the small note in her pocket, the only thing keeping the child alive. She _needed_ to do this for him.

She stood up and took a deep breath, then walked out the double doors into the kitchen.

               

The kitchen was madness. It was dinnertime, and everyone was running this way and that with steaming-hot trays stacked to their eyes with delicacies. She saw that others were gathered around a list on the wall, so she dodged a few waiters to wade over to it.

The list showed dinner table numbers and assignments with a small layout of the dining hall beneath it. She memorized where Mr. Blake’s table was, and also the order of the dishes for the meal. Below the assignment list was a large sketch of the kitchen , and she saw each table number had its own area to pick up each course.  She went over the station for the Blakes’ table, which was a few rows into the bustling, steamy insanity of the kitchen.

On the broad, chrome countertop was twelve dainty plates of delicately-arranged quail eggs and caviar, which she assumed was the first course. The large, clanging dinner bell that Clarke assumed signaled it was time to begin taking food out rang out over the commotion as the other waitresses and waiters, seventy-three through eighty, began scooping up plates.

One of the waiters near her station with slicked-back hair smiled at her as he handed her a glass decanter of wine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just keep their glasses filled. You’re new, so we won’t make you serve Mr. Blake or Mr. Taylor.” He winked at her and draped a white cloth over his arm. “Besides, the better you do your job the better they tip us all. So keep the wine flowing, and look pretty. Oh, and don’t spill.”

“Thanks,” Clarke said, “I’ll keep them filled. Is that all I’ve got to do?”

“Yep.  We’ll handle the rest.” And with that, he made his way over to the swinging doors that led into the glistening dining room and motioned Clarke to follow.

They both entered the room behind the stream of waiters and waitresses taking caviar out to the passengers. Clarke was stunned by it all. Everything in sight was encrusted with money. The women wore gaudy hairstyles and earrings worth ten times her life. The tables were covered in floral arrangements and gold table-runners with huge, ornate place-settings placed in front of each guest. The men laughed loudly and looked intense, discussing things Clarke knew nothing about with passion.

These people were from a whole different world. Their nails were manicured and soft, and their faces were pale like they’d never worked countless hours in the fields as she had. They looked like sharks to Clarke. Sharks who could destroy her and everyone she loved with a pen and a checkbook. She was in _way_ over her head.

She looked around the room for a moment, trying to find the table she was charged with. But, when she took a step forward, her foot caught on the rug underfoot.

She tumbled down to the carpet, smashing the wine decanter and cutting her arms as she fell.


	6. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

 

He heard a struggle

behind

and to the left

of his dinner table.

A tussle.

 

The dining attendant’s

tails flick

as he

sees her and his

world

is no longer

 

She’s beautiful and

She’s dressed in uniform,

but she’s stained with wine.

 

She wears a strength

that’s extraterrestrial

among these coddled wealthy.

 

She is full of so much more

fire than this cold ocean he’s

surrounded by.

 

Her face is animated,

her movements sure,

her curls gleaming gold,

and her soul a stubborn spark

against the silver ice of money

that surrounds her.

 

She was being held up

by a waiter,

her arms bleeding.

 

She was scared of the waiter

and intimidated by the

people two classes up,

her pupils dancing a

nervous waltz

across the great room’s

chandeliers and

patrons.

 

The attendant grabbed her arm tighter,

his voice raising

and fingers tightening

to expel

this magnificent being,

bursting with _substance_ ,

from a room full of

 

And Bellamy was standing

 

and his feet took him

 

to her side.

 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy Blake

“What’s the problem here?” Bellamy asked as he approached the livid waiter who held the bleeding girl up off the rug. She was fighting him now, struggling to stand as the waiter tried to pull her toward the kitchen. Bellamy stood between the girl and the rest of the dining hall, hoping that the other passengers wouldn’t stare at the girl. He felt his table’s eyes boring into his back, trying to see why he’d left.

The waiter, startled, stopped scolding the girl and straightened up, his face plastered with fear. “Sir, I’m so sorry for interrupting your dinner. This woman was just discovered to be a passenger posing as a crew-member and must be taken back to the third-class deck. Please pay her no mind. If there’s anything we can get you for your trouble?”

Bellamy frowned at the sniveling man. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take her.”

The girl’s eyes snapped up to meet his, full of terror.

The waiter scrambled for a response. “No, sir, I insist. I wouldn’t want to trouble you, and we don’t know if she’s dangerous. She may have intended to injure another guest! And I certainly wouldn’t feel right—”

Bellamy looked the man dead in the eye. “She’s not going to hurt anyone. I’ll take her to the clinic to get her arms bandaged. Now _let her go before you hurt her more_.”

Bellamy’s words didn’t give the man an option. He let her go and took a timid step back and bowed his head. “Certainly, Sir.”

“What is your name?” Bellamy asked the waiter.

“John, sir. John Murphy.”

“I see.” Bellamy nodded his head, an idea growing. “Mr. Murphy, would you do me a favor?”

“Certainly, Sir. Anything.”

Bellamy gave him a small devilish smile. “Go dump some wine on Mr. McTaggert. He’s sitting at my table, next to his wife. Caine will love it. I’ll tip you 20 pounds if you do.”

Murphy’s eyes grew wide, then excited. He gave Bellamy a wicked grin. “Absolutely, Sir.”

And with that, Murphy skittered off into the kitchen for more wine, leaving Bellamy alone with the bleeding girl.


	7. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

 

That did not just happen.

That did _not_ just happen.

But, lo and behold, there she stood: bleeding in the first-class dining room while a man—a _first-class man_ — who she didn’t know and who had defended her against that sniveling little twat of a man for absolutely _no goddamn reason_.

“Hello.” Is all he said. He waited for her to respond as she looked at him, dumbstruck.

She continued to stare at him, her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes squinted in confusion.

“Can I help you walk to the clinic?” He asked, offering her his hand.

She recoiled at the offer instinctively. But, at that moment she realized that this horrid occurrence could be what saves the little boy back on C deck.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I can walk, but some help finding my way would be nice.”

He gave her a warm smile as he lowered his hand. “Certainly. It’s right this way.” He walked to the entrance of the dining hall and opened the door for Clarke, and she thanked him and walked out into the hallway.

When the doors shut behind the man, he stopped to look at her for a moment. She held her forearms, trying to stop the bleeding.

“What is your name, madam?”

“Clarke… Griffin.” Why was he talking to her?

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty one in May.” This seemed odd.

“Where are you from?”

“Germany.”

“Ah,” he said, and began walking to the left down a long corridor, “I should have been able to tell by your accent. Berlin or countryside?” Clarke was confused. Why was he asking her these things? Why was he helping her? Why did he care?

“I grew up in hill country—near Rothenburg— on a farm. I moved to Berlin when I was eighteen, and now I am to live in New York City with my fiancé.”

“Why New York? America is a large place.” The man took a right down another unmarked hallway. It was a labyrinth, and Clarke was eager to stop the blood dripping onto her stolen clothes.

She stopped and the man turned to look at her with expectancy. He had a lovely, kind face, Clarke noticed, with clean features and beautiful bowed lips.

“Who are you? Why are you helping me?” She asked the man, puzzled by him.

“My name is Bellamy. It’s nice to meet you, Clarke.” He bowed his head slightly toward her. “I wish it had been under better circumstances. I apologize for that.”

Bellamy. Where had she heard that name?

Bellamy turned away and kept walking. Clarke followed.

“What do you do, Bellamy? You’re a first-class passenger, so you’ve got to be as wealthy as the day is long.” Clarke asked of the man, smirking.

He chuckled. “First and foremost, I am a businessman.” His eyes softened with an inner secret. “I am also a dragon slayer in my free time.”

Bellamy…

Bellamy…

Where had she heard that name?

“And you, Mrs. Griffin? What do you do?”

Her attention snapped back to the man beside her. “Oh, it’s _Ms_. Griffin. I was a healer back in my town. Bring me any of your horrible diseases and I’ve got the herb.”

“A healer? Like a doctor?” He sounded surprised and impressed.

“Yes.” Clarke agreed, a thought forming in her head. She dropped her voice. “And, as a healer, I… I need your help.” She felt embarrassed, asking this man for help. He’d already helped her so much more than she expected a first-class passenger to.

This stopped Bellamy in his tracks. He looked at her, his composure changing into seriousness. “What in the world could you need help with, Ms. Griffin?”

“There’s a child…”

“Yours?” Bellamy asked quickly, cutting her off.

She scoffed. “God, no. I’m awful with kids. He’s in the cabin next to mine. A little boy. He’s ill, and—and—,” Clarke quickly explained, “he has scarlet fever and needs medication, but we can’t tell the doctors on board or they’ll send him back to America. I can treat him myself, but I need supplies, supplies that I don’t have.”

Bellamy nodded, understanding. “And that’s why you need me. If a first-class passenger asks for the supplies, the request won’t be questioned.”

Clarke got more desperate, stepping closer “Yes, and I was looking for someone to help when I was discovered in the dining hall. Please, Bellamy, the child will die—”

“I’ll help you.”

Clarke was dumbstruck. “You will?”

“Yes.” Bellamy said, curtly.

“But, I’m only a third-class passenger that you just met. You could get arrested for this.” Clarke was shocked, and didn’t want to put Bellamy at risk.

“I won’t get arrested.” The statement struck Clarke as very matter-of-fact.

“How do you know that, Bellamy? You’re just one man.”

“Even if I’m caught, Clarke. Even if I’m caught. Even if I smuggle the boy into the country. Even if I _tell the police_ what we’re doing. I will not get arrested. I’ll get the boy into the country” Bellamy’s voice was tinged with something sour that Clarke couldn’t quite place. He looked haunted.

Clarke was intimidated, now. This man clearly had power in realms far beyond her imagination.

“Should I be scared of you?” She asked quietly. “I’m not, but should I be?”

His eyes softened again, the same way as they did when he spoke of dragons. “Clarke, you will never need to be afraid of me. I could never hurt you. We have different backgrounds, but we share our outlook on life.”

“So you’ll help?”

“Yes. We’ll talk once you’re bandaged up.”

They’d arrived at the clinic, so he ushered her in quickly. She walked in and was greeted by a nurse.

Then she realized.

Blake.

Bellamy Blake.


	8. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

Once she stepped out of the clinic, he greeted her, “Let’s go onto the deck. At this time of night it’s quiet and no one’s around, so we can figure out a list of exactly what you need for the boy.” Bellamy said to the girl as she tugged at her bandages around her arm. She was exhausting to be around, smart-assed and stunning.

They made their way to the side of the ship and breeched the hull out onto the night-drenched deck. As predicted, there was no one out in this freezing cold air tonight.

Bellamy went to lean on the railing, leaning out over the pale, dark water below.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Clarke said behind him with a snicker as he peered out into the night. She was growing comfortable with him, he could tell.

He shrugged.  “You don’t.” Clarke walked forward to join him, leaning over the cool metal to watch the water drift past the metal of the hull. “To the same effect, Ms. Griffin, how do I know I can trust you?” He was playing with her, testing her. “You could be, in fact, a robber. Or a thief.”

She scoffed at him. “I’d make a terrible robber. You’ve seen my face, so now if I wanted to steal from you, I’d have to kill you, too.  And that,” she looked at him with a smirk “goes against my ethics.”

“Ah, but you’ve missed a grand opportunity, Ms. Griffin, as you could take me to bed right now and rob me blind and I’d never suspect a thing.”

At this, she raised an eyebrow. “I’m engaged.”

He smiled, not missing a beat. “So you lack dedication to your art form! It’s not my fault that you’d make a lousy thief.”

She laughed, her eyes crinkling shut.

“No you, Bellamy, would make a horrible thief. If you’re seduced do easily, how could you expect to keep any of your bounty? And plus, I already know things about you. I could destroy you, and you’d thank me on my way out the door.”

“Really? What is it that you know about me?”

“Blake. Your last name is Blake.”

“Most people know that. My _name_ is common knowledge to my friends.” He smiled, a challenge. “I would have told you my name. What else do you know, little thief?”

“You are the wealthiest man on this ship.”

“I make an excellent target, it’s true. What else?”

“You have a nephew.”

“I do.” He was impressed. “Very good, little thief. What else?”

She leaned back against the railing, studying his face like his soul was written on it. He merely smirked back, waiting.

“You weren’t born rich.”

He was startled that she had figured that out. Hardly anyone in society knew of his upbringing. “Also true. How can you tell?”

“You’re not a dick.” She thought for a moment. Something changed in her smile. “And you don’t treat me like I’m invisible.”

He could feel the pain in her words, the venom.

“Who treats you like that, Clarke?”

Her eyes were sad, vacant.

“Clarke? Who treats you like that?”

“It’s—it’s not important.” She wiped away a tear, then composed herself. Bellamy promised himself that he would help this girl later. “How good are you at remembering things?”

Bellamy considered this. “Excellent.”

“Okay. Here’s what I’m going to need: fever reducers, clean bandages, sterilizing solution— ”

Bellamy paid attention, memorizing the things she listed off. Once she was done, he repeated her list back to her perfectly. She seemed fairly impressed. “I’ll have everything for you within the hour. What is your cabin number?”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll come to you when I’ve got all the supplies.”

“Are you sure? The third-class decks are nothing like the one I’m sure you’re staying in.”

“Clarke, I grew up practically homeless. I think I’ll be fine on the E deck of the grandest ship in the world. I’ll bring you the things. You need to be down there to help. And plus, I’d like to meet the child.” She nodded.

“Alright. If you’re sure. My room is 315 on E deck.” She stood up straighter and squinted at him. “Don’t let me down, Blake. I know which table is yours in the dining room.”

He grinned. “I won’t, thief. And if I do, I welcome the punishment.” And with that he kissed her hand and strolled back into the interior to retrieve the supplies.


	9. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

 

He was too perfect. His dark hair, his devilish smile, his cherry voice.

Too perfect to even dream about. So Clarke shook her childish fantasies out of her head and began to skirt around other passengers back down to E deck where she belonged. Back to Finn. Back to being overlooked and used.  Bellamy was just a passing dream, she told herself. He was wealthier than God, apparently. He was so astronomically wealthy, there was no reason for him to help her. So why was he?

She descended the final set of stairs as she tried to puzzle out the answer to that very question.

And that’s when she heard it.

Coming from her cabin.

_Moaning_.

Loud. Wanton. _Moaning_.

At first, she was confused.

Someone was having sex in her cabin.

And then she was _angry._

Because _someone_ wasn’t having sex in her cabin.

_Finn_ was having sex in her cabin.

She stormed up to the cabin door, spitting lava. She banged on it, livid and delusional from blood loss.

“FINN COLLINS YOU _FURCHTBAR_ PIECE OF _SCHEISSE_ OPEN THIS _GOTTVERDAMMTE_ DOOR!”

She heard scrambling and a muffled “blyad’” from inside. After a few moments, the door cracked open. Finn looked out, his hair pushed this way and that. He was flushed bright red with embarrassment.

“ _Was miese HURE ist es mit Ihnen ist in dort mit Ihnen_? IT’S NOT RAVEN IS IT?” She spat in his face, trying to peer inside the dark room.

Finn cleared his throat. “Clarke, we’re over.

“Excuse me, you _kleine Scheiße_?”

“The engagement’s off, Clarke.” Finn spoke as if he was speaking to a child, chastising her.

“ _Recht. Groß. Gut._ What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“You know, Clarke? I don’t really give a shit. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Clarke ripped off her engagement ring and threw it at him. “ _In der Hölle verrotten_ , Collins.”

She turned her back and walked to Viktor’s cabin, hurt, overwhelmed, and tired.

 

When she entered Viktor’s cabin, she went right to Drake’s bedside, kneeling next to the boy. He was awake, but barely. She smoothed his sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead, suddenly feeling very tired and drained.

The little boy opened his eyes and focused on her bandaged wrists for a moment before saying in a weak voice, “Mrs. Collins? Are you okay?”

Clarke choked back a sob, her heart ripping in two from the betrayal. He was her oldest friend, her supporter. Sure, he had always been distant with her, but she never imagined that he would do _this_ to her. But, she realized, maybe he had always been biding his time, appeasing her, waiting for someone else to come along. She could feel it when he kissed her. He didn’t mean it. She should have known that this would happen eventually. And now she was left to deal with the cold, dark reality of her situation.

She held back her tears. “I’m fine, Drake. Thank you for asking, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

His eyes drifted closed. “Cold.”

“I know, baby. I know. I’ll get you some more blankets in a moment.” She laid her fingers across his forehead, feeling that his fever hadn’t changed. She got up, looking around the cabin for some more blankets for the child and a distraction for herself. “Where is your father, Drake?”

“Dinner,” came the weak reply.

“Okay. I’ll stay and wait until he gets back. Stay with me, Drake. Stay with me.”


	10. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

 Three Fifteen

was locked.

 

When he knocked,

gently at first,

then with more force,

no one answered.

 

“Clarke!”

 

“Clarke!”

 

Three sixteen opened

 

Maybe there had been

a mistake.

 

 

Bellamy Blake

 Her eyes were puffy and swollen. She smiled, though, her cheeks glistening. “Did you get the stuff, Blake?”

“I did indeed, thief. What’s wrong?” Bellamy walked towards her, carrying all of the medical supplies in a bag over his shoulder. He had changed out of his evening wear and into his civvies, his collar unbuttoned and his hat gone. She had changed, too, out of the stolen waitress’s outfit and into a simple dress. Even in that, she looked radiant beyond description.

“Come on in and we’ll talk.”

That was an invitation he simply couldn’t refuse.

Inside was smaller than he had anticipated. It was comfortable, though, with a sink in the corner and plenty of blankets piled on each bed. A warm lamp shone in the corner, casting the room in soft shadow. Clarke’s hair was pure gold in the light. One of the beds appeared taken, piled high with blankets with a small red face sticking out at the top of the bed.

She sat down on the other bed, and he sat in the plush chair by the lamp, waiting for her to speak. He set the bag of supplies down next to the chair with a soft rustle and settled himself in the lamplight, watching the boy sleep.

After a long silence, Clarke spoke into the golden air. “My fiancé is cheating on me.”

Bellamy sat up. “How do you know?”

“I heard them. He told me that we’re done.” She sniffled then chuckled. “I threw my ring at his head.”

Bellamy watched her for a moment, puzzled by her ability to find humor in the situation.

“I knew he didn’t love me. I’ve known for a long time.” There wasn’t a trace of bitterness in her voice, only regret. “He used to tell me that we belonged together. But never that he loved me.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I guess it’s better this way.”

Bellamy nodded, understanding. “Where will you stay?”

Clarke laughed and bit her lip. “I have no idea… Here, I guess.”

“No. You will not stay here so close to them.”

“Then where do you suggest I stay, Bellamy? I can’t just jump off the ship.”

“Nonsense. You’ll stay with me.”


	11. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

 She looked at him now. Really looked at him. Looked at him, drenched in the warm glow of the lamp in the corner, and began to understand him.

“You are a complex man, Mr. Blake. A businessman, but also a human.”

“And you, a complex woman, little thief. A healer and a spitfire.”

Clarke smiled at that. “Finn used to call me simple. He said that I was too easy to read, too easy to manipulate.” His next words ripped her world apart.

“You are anything but simple, Clarke. You hold the universe.”

She stood then, hair falling down her back, and walked over to him. She stood above him, looking down onto his angled face through heavy eyes.

 “Alright, Blake. I’ll stay with you.”

 

After she and Bellamy had settled Drake in for the night with sleep aid and fever reducer, Clarke had gotten her things from the cabin, which had been very awkward indeed and full of forced conversation and death glares, and was ready to go with Bellamy.

They began making their way up to A deck, winding this way and that through the labyrinth of a ship.

“I have a sister, Octavia. She and her husband Lincoln have a son, Caine, who’s my nephew.”

Clarke nodded, following behind Bellamy. She was exhausted, eyes drifting shut every once and a while before snapping back open. “They’re in the cabin connected to mine. I think you and Octavia will get along wonderfully.” Clarke leaned into Bellamy’s side when they reached his cabin door after what felt like eons of white hallways.

He retrieved his key and unlocked the door, pushing into the most lavish and gaudy room Clarke had ever seen. She yawned. “Holy shit, Bell. I know you’re wealthy, but don’t you think that this is overdoing it just a little?”

He laughed as he dropped her suitcase next to the door.

She made no effort to really explore the suite, as she was too exhausted. She picked one of the two doors and opened it, praying that is was the bedroom. It was, and it was the most beautiful bed she had ever seen. It was huge and draped in thick green dressings. She kicked off her shoes and stumbled over to it, crawling under the immaculate linens.

“Does this mean I’m on the couch the, little thief?”

“Fuck no. This bed is waaay too empty.” Bellamy made no effort to conceal his grin from her.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, Griffin.”

She gave a loud yawn then snuggled down into the sheets. “Deal with it.”

He toed off his shoes and turned off the lights, crawling into the bed next to the golden-haired girl. She was already asleep, her hair splayed out perfectly on his pillows. He laid a protective arm over her stomach and she shifted then hummed in contentment.

Bellamy Blake fell asleep a happy man.


	12. Clarke Griffin

Bellamy Blake

The grand chandelier

is nothing

compared to

her hair gleaming

as it’s splayed across his pillow

in the sun beams that

peak through the curtains

 

And the ocean that

they drifted over

was small

compared to her eyes

when she woke

in his arms.

 

Clarke Griffin

She woke facing him, his arms stroking her waist. He was already awake, studying her like she was a puzzle piece. His face was striking, his eyes still shaking off sleep and his mouth upturned with happiness.

“Bellamy?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Yes, thief?” He brought a hand up and brushed a piece of hair away from her cheek. His fingers were like fire on her skin. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, savoring the touch.

She hummed in contentment, leaning into him. When he pulled his hand back, she whispered, “What time is breakfast?”

Bellamy laughed at that.  “Way to ruin the mood, Clarke.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m skilled.” He smiled and nodded.

“Breakfast is served here in the room at ten.”

“And what time is it now?”

Bellamy chuckled. “Two thirty.”

“Oh, shit! Really?” She sat up, looking around the room. He sat up, too, then pulled the covers away and stood, his feet sinking into the plush rug.

“Yes. We missed breakfast. And lunch.” Her stomach growled loudly, as if offering evidence that she really had slept in so late.

She plopped back into the pillow, hair flying. She looked at him, her eyes playful.

“Get out, Blake. I need to get dressed.” He raised an eyebrow in response. “Out! Go be useful to your sister for a minute while I get dressed.” She stood up and shooed him out the door.

He gave her a mock-pitiful look and she shut the door in his face.

And then she turned to get her things and compose herself.

What had she done?

What had she gotten herself wrapped up in?

The room around her was lavish in the afternoon glint, the gold gleam bouncing between velvet curtains and the gilded mirror. She was, suddenly, overwhelmed with her situation.

Outside the door, she could hear Bellamy shuffling around. She heard a _thud_ and a “Dammit, Blake. Pull yourself together,” as Bellamy stumbled into furniture.

All her fears were assuaged.

She dressed, pulling on a frock and stockings quickly. Her pulled her tousled hair away from her face with a few pins then looked in the mirror.

She wasn’t thrilled, but then again she never was.

She toed her way over to the door through the knotted rug and pressed her ear up against the heavy mahogany where she could hear Bellamy talking to someone in hushed tones.

“Octavia, please!”

“No, Bell! Let me go in and meet her! You two slept through half the day.”

“Stop, O. Leave her be. She’ll come out when she’s ready…. Please.”

There was a pause.

“…You like her.”

Another pause.

“Bellamy, you _like_ her.”

A lull yet again.

“Now I really have to meet her, Bellamy you bastar— ”

And Clare walked into the room.

Before her stood a stunning young woman, perhaps only a few years older than Clarke, her eyes dark and her hair full. She was thin and structured, looking more like a seamstress than a first-class passenger. All except for the diamonds dangling from her slender neck.

“Hello.” Stated the woman—Octavia.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you.” Clarke nodded towards her, hesitant.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, how wonderful!” She ran forward suddenly, barreling into Clarke and pulling her into a tight hug.

Clarke hesitated a moment, then tentatively hugged back, shooting a look at Bellamy who just shrugged with a smile. She then pulled away, holding Clarke shoulders and examining her at arm’s length. She seemed immensely excited. Clarke was… overwhelmed by her.

“I’m so glad you’re here. First class passengers are bloody horrible, and I’m glad to have someone who hasn’t gone insane with wealth.”

“Umm. Thanks?”

“I’m Octavia.” She held out her hand.

“Oh god, O! You’re scaring her!” Bell dragged a hand over his face.

“No, no! It’s fine, Bell,” Clarke reassured the man. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Octavia. My name is Clarke.” She shook the woman’s slender hand.

Bellamy interjected, “Let’s get some food, thief. We can chat over food.”


	13. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

 They were sitting in the parlor of Bellamy’s room a few minutes later, tea and sandwiches spread out in front of them. Octavia was nursing a tea and watching as Clarke devoured the food before her.

Bellamy was a little on edge.

“Octavia, where is Caine?” Bell asked, smiling as Clarke moaned as she bit into a strawberry tart.

“He’s with his father they’re at the pool now, I think— ”

“Good God, Bellamy! Do you eat like this every day?” Clarke sucked some sugar off her fingers.

He chuckled. “Yes. We’ve got a personal chef back in London.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows, impressed. “So… What exactly _do_ you do, Bell? You’re wealthier than God, so I want some answers. ” Then, under her breath he caught something in muttered German that sounded awed. She was looking at him, genuinely curious.

“Well, if you must know the dirty inner-workings of my life, little thief, I own over half the world’s steel and who I don’t own in steel I own in electricity.”

She stared at him, thinking.

“How much money do you make?”

He could tell she wanted an honest answer. He didn’t want to dismiss her or treat her like a child. She was his future; she deserved to know.

“One hundred million pounds a year.”

She looked him in the eye and didn’t flinch, her gaze steady, her lips smirking upwards.

“All that money, Blake, and you still can’t find a wife?”

Octavia suddenly burst out into a full-bellied laugh, clutching her stomach. The tension of the room dispersed.

Clarke leaned back, clearly amused with herself.

Bellamy sputtered for a moment, then regained composure.

And suddenly, a tornado burst into the room, and Bellamy’s nephew was in his lap before he could respond to Clarke’s comment.

“Uncle Bell! Uncle Bell! Daddy and I was just at the pool!” Caine beamed, his tiny teeth missing in a few areas. “We were the only ones down there! I got the pool all to myself.”

Bellamy smiled warmly at the boy then ruffled his damp hair.  He suddenly became worried about Clarke’s reaction to the young boy. He realized that she hadn’t met Lincoln, and she may be taken aback by the boy’s skin color.

“Caine, I want you to meet someone special.” Caine looked over to Clarke, who was sitting right next to Bellamy. He stared for a moment, unsure of how to deal with her.  “Hello.”

Clarke stared back at the boy. “Hello, Caine.”

He beamed and jumped over to her, his knees digging into her sharply. “What’s your name, miss?” She smiled, clearly charmed with the lapful of boy, not seeming to notice his color.

“My name is Clarke Griffin.”

He nodded fiercely, very serious.

“And I’m Caine. That’s my mama.” He pointed to Octavia. “And that’s my papa.” He pointed at Lincoln, who was stroking Octavia’s shoulders and smirking.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Clark said to Lincoln.

He looked her up and down, appraising. Then, “We have not. It is nice to meet you, Clarke. My name is Lincoln Taylor.”

“Daddy’s a businessman!” yelped Caine from Clarke’s lap.

“Ah,” she responded to the boy. “And what is your job? What do you do?” She poked his nose and he squirmed, pleased.

“I fight dragons!”

“Really? Have you heard of the _puk_ that roam the German countryside? They’ve terrorized my village for centuries. Perhaps you could come and slay them for us?”

Caine lit up. “Of course, miss. I will save you! I’m the greatest dragon hunter to live!”

Clarke laughed and it lit up the room like no gold could.

 

 

Bellamy Blake

 Octavia

and Lincoln

and the dervish

left the room

after some tea and

more laughter.

 

Lincoln loved her,

he could tell by his eyes.

 

Octavia positively adored her,

he could tell by her smile.

 

Caine was smitten,

he could tell by his blush.

 

And Bellamy was

totally,

completely,

and

irreversibly

in

love.


	14. Clarke Griffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: YAYYY! YAYAYAYAYAYAY!!! yay. Finally, goddamn.

Clarke Griffin

They were alone in the suite.

And suddenly Clarke was very aware of her dress.

And she felt out of place in the giant room.

“Clarke?”

She turned towards him. His eyes were serious, heavy.

“Do you want to know why I haven’t found a wife yet?”

She hesitated, scared of his answer. Because she _wanted_ him. He was amazingly kind and intelligent. He was thoughtful and steady, but not above others. He was perfect and beautiful, and he was a beacon of hope for Clarke. And she wanted him to want her back. She nodded, sinking down into the couch cushion, waiting for an answer.

Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke through the silence, his voice full of reverence.

“It’s because I hadn’t met you until now.”

And suddenly, she was leaning into him, pressing her lips firmly to his in a feverish kiss.

He reached up to cup her face in his hands, his fingers dragging over her hair leaving fire in their wake. She felt him stroke her bottom lip with his tongue, gently asking her permission. She obliged and leaned deeper into him, crawling into his lap without breaking their kiss. One of his hands stroked her waist and the other her cheek, reassuring her. He explored her, coaxing her mouth with languid, worshiping strokes. She tangled her fingers into his hair, desperate to get closer to him.

Then, she pulled away slowly, looking down at him with swollen, parted lips. He stared back, astonishment and lust in his eyes.

She could tell he was waiting for her to speak.

“Bellamy fucking Blake,” she whispered. “Where have you been?”

He huffed and smiled, his hand still gripping her hip. He reached up and tucked a strand of her wild hair behind her ear.

“Little thief, I don’t know where I’ve been. But I know where I’m going to be from now on.”

She smirked, leaning in closer and resting her elbows on his shoulders, framing his face. “Yeah? And where might that be, _liebe_?”

“ _Por su lado_.” She raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued.

“You speak Spanish?”

“My mother was from Spain. My father was British.” He pulled her waist and flipped her onto her back so that she lay on the couch, then leaned over her. “And as much as I’d love to discuss my heritage right now, Clarke, I’d much rather kiss you.” She grinned and then leaned up to meet him once again, his lips finding hers perfectly.

They stayed like that for hours, kissing and exploring each other, talking in hushed tones about the stars, their lives, and their dreams.

They drifted over the still sea together, their hearts slowly engulfing each other’s, until it was time to get Clarke some proper food.

 

 

Octavia swooped in at around six, not acknowledging that he and Clarke were tangled up on the couch.

“Alright! Clarke, it’s time to get you dressed! Up, you two, up!” They scurried to their feet. Clarke watched Bellamy shoot his sister a warning look. Then Clarke was pulled into a quick kiss.

“Yes, yes, you two are very much in love. Now leave, Bellamy, before I kick you out.”

He raised his hands in surrender as he made his way to the door. “Don’t hurt her, O. I need her to be in one piece.”

Octavia rolled her eyes heavily. “Be back in an hour, you rat.”

“An hour it is.” And Clarke watched him back out the door, shooting her a mouthed “sorry” as he left.

“Alright, Clarke. It’s time to make you sparkle. I have trunkfuls of the most fabulous gowns that I never wear because I positively _loath_ wearing flashy dresses. I’ve got a few that will make all the stupid first-class men drool all over their dinner.”

“But… I’m just a third-class girl. Why would you lend me a dress?”

“Clarke, honey, we’re going to be sisters very soon.” Clarke blushed crimson and began to protest when Octavia silenced her. “I see the way you look at him, and the way he worships the ground you walk on. We’re going to be sisters, and I couldn’t ask for a better one.” She rubbed Clarke’s arm, reassuring her. “I like you, Clarke. I think you’re amazing, and I saw the way you treated Caine.”

“How did I treat Caine?”

“As a human. He gets shunned by the passengers on this ship. Lincoln and I have learned to deal with it, but it’s hard on Caine.” Clarke understood now. This woman was strong, weathered. She wasn’t a vapid doll, but a woman who loved fiercely and completely. “And you treated him with respect. You didn’t look twice at his skin color. Lincoln, too. I thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome, Octavia. Thank you for not treating me like I’m two classes lower than you.” Clarke gave her a warm smile. “Blue, I think. I look good in blue. I’ve never had the money for enough colored fabric for a dress, but I’m told that cornflowers look good in my hair.”

Octavia grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. “Let’s make you the sexiest thing on this boat, Griffin.”


	15. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

He passed the time by playing with Caine. He took him around the ship, carrying his nephew on his shoulders as they wandered the decks outside. It was getting bitter cold as they neared the middle of the ocean, and he had to stop and pull Caine’s hands out to blow warmth back into them.

They wandered back to their cabin, Caine murmuring a story about the sea dragons that were swimming along with the boat to protect it as he dozed off. Bellamy pulled Caine down off his shoulders and set him down, pushing him to his father inside the Taylor’s cabin.

He followed behind, pressing the door shut behind him.

Ha wandered in, watching Caine jump up into Lincoln’s arms and hold onto his neck, tired.

“Lincoln, I’m sorry I’ve exhausted your son.”

Lincoln smiled and patted Caine’s back as he buried his face into his father’s shirt. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

“I forgot to ask you, Caine,” Bellamy tapped on the young boy’s shoulder and he pulled his face away from his father’s chest. “Do you remember Clarke?”

Caine’s eyes lit up. “Mhm!”

“Do you mind if she takes your spot at dinner tonight? You can go to bed now, and you don’t have to sit with all the boring old people.”

Caine yawned, then responded, “Yeah. Don’t let the old people be mean to her.”

Bellamy nodded at this. “Thank you, Caine.”

“Brother, are you sure you want to do this?”

He thought the question over. “Do I want to take her to dinner? Or do I want to love her?”

“Both.”

“Then yes.”

“To which question?”

“Both.”

 

 

Bellamy was dressed for dinner. He was wearing his pressed tails and gloves, his shoes shining and his hair combed for once in his life. Lincoln was spotless too, and the pair of them looked like the economic sharks they were. The only thing that betrayed the Tycoon Persona was Bellamy’s incessant twiddling of his thumbs. He was nervous about this dinner with Clarke. Has wasn’t worried about Clarke, no. He was worried about how the other passengers might treat her.

And then she entered into the room, and all that melted away.

He stood when she entered, overcome by her beauty.

Her gown was cornflower blue and floor-length, covered in intricate crystal beading and silk. Her hair was down, covering her shoulders in sweeping curls. Her lips were pale pink and there were gobs of royal blue diamonds draped from her slender neck.

She was radiant, exuding strength and confidence.

Octavia went over to Lincoln, watching Bellamy’s reaction with a devious smile. Bellamy heard Octavia pull Lincoln out the door with a “We’ll just wait outside.”


	16. Clarke Griffin

Clarke Griffin

He was gaping at her.

“Do you… Is this not convincing enough?” She asked, scared.

“No… No! God, Clarke you look incredible!”  She walked closer to him.

“Do you think I’ll pass as first class?” She smirked. “Because if I’m going to be on your arm I better be up to the standard.” Once she got close enough to him, he pulled her into him, kissing her firmly. He moved down her neck to lay kisses along her collar bone, murmuring “Thief, you blow the standard out of the water. You’re perfect.”

Her heart sang.

“Clarke one of the passengers we will dine with tonight, Mr. McTaggert, offered his daughter to me, and I declined. He’s a dangerous man, Clarke. Let me decide what to reveal to him. If I am cruel, if I am hostile to the other passengers at dinner, please don’t think ill of me.”

“Why would I? I’m sure they’re awful to you.” She looked at him, leaning in to kiss him again. “They’re jealous, racist, and conceited. And you’re powerful…” he bit her ear playfully, making Clarke’s knees shake. “… and you are kind and unflinching. They’ve got to be intimidated by you, so you’re on the defensive. You can be as forceful as you need to be, tonight, Bell. I understand, and I love you nonetheless.”

He pulled away and looked at her, serious.

“Marry me.”

“Yes. But first we’ve got to get through dinner, love.”

 

 

The third time Clarke entered the first-class dining hall, she entered on Bellamy’s arm.

They entered together, Clarke holding her head high.

He led her to the table, holding out her chair and then sitting at the head of the table.

The rest of the table was already full, and had stopped their conversations as soon as she sat down. She could feel the eyes of the others boring into her as Bellamy sat down.

Octavia, sitting next to her, reached over and gave her hand a squeeze under the table.

Bellamy broke the silence “Good evening, everyone.”

There were a few murmured greetings, but Clarke could tell everyone was waiting for the explanation of her presence.

An older gentleman with deep frown lines spoke from the other end of the table. “Mr. Blake, who have you brought with you tonight? I do not believe we have been acquainted.”

Bellamy gave him a sharp look. He spoke to her. “Clarke, this is Mr. McTaggert.” He gestured toward the man vaguely. “And his wife.” He continued around the table, introducing each guest to her.

She nodded and smiled at each introduced guest, silent.

When Bellamy was done, he sat back in his chair and took her hand, tracing her fingers slowly, reassuring her.

A woman two seats to Clarke’s left finally broke the silence in a crisp French tone. “What is your name, Madame?”

“My name is Clarke.” She felt her German accent trickle out and stun the others at the table.

“And, you are German?” the woman continued.

“Yes.” Clarke knew she shouldn’t elaborate. She would let Bellamy decide what to reveal for her own safety.

“Ms. Clarke,” Mr. McTaggert spoke to her directly, daggers in his eyes, “why are you dining with us tonight? I have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner before, so what brings you to our table?”

Bellamy handled the question easily, confidently. “She was occupied with her studies, sir. Clarke is a student and has been studying hard to be able to enter university once we reach America.”

McTaggert raised an eyebrow. “And she is your… cousin, Mr. Blake?”

“No, Clarke is my fiancé.”

And hell broke loose.


	17. Bellamy Blake

Bellamy Blake

The table exploded with voices.

McTaggert was enraged, knocking over a wine glass while boiling with anger.

His wife was squealing some nonsense about honor amongst the wealthy.

The man to Bellamy’s left was spewing something about “filthy Germans.”

Yet another man was muttering about the worthlessness of “women’s education.”

In the midst of it all, Bellamy sat and marveled at Clarke. She looked lovely, flushed a slight red from all the commotion and uproar.

Finally, Bellamy stood, silencing the table. The other guests waited with bated breath. Even the servers seemed to stop and watch Bellamy as he prepared to speak.

He looked over them all.

“You all, every one of you, will show Clarke respect. She is a third-class passenger,” gasps from around the room rose up, “ and she is to be my wife. If I find out that any of you have even _looked_ at her the wrong way, you can kiss your family’s livelihood goodbye.”

“Blake, you can’t be serious,” Mr. McTaggert stood, glaring at Bellamy with a challenge. “She’s a peasant. A lowlife bitch meant to sit in factories and breed children. You turned down my daughter for some cheap leggy whore to share your bed? Who do you think you are you Spanish bastard? Turning down an oil baron’s daughter for that piece of trash? She’s not fit to even walk through this room, let alone dine with us.” McTaggert scowled at Clarke as he spoke, venom lacing through the room.

“And you, sir?” Clarke stood, facing the man head-on. “You are fit to dine here? With your cruel words and your degradation of your wife and daughters?”

Bellamy was awe-struck by Clarke’s words.

“You sit there and eat your meal, forgetting that you would starve if it were not for workers like me. You sit there in silks and leather, but you forget that you would be naked if not for the skilled hands that sewed your garments. And you sit there reveling in the money that you made on the backs of workers like me. So when you go to your cabin tonight and your bed is made and your slippers are warm and the ship hums across the water quietly, you sit there and thank God that workers like me exist.”

She straightened back up, then sat, embarrassed by her outcry.

“Mr. McTaggert,” Bellamy stated, beaming at Clarke, “I would appreciate it if you left my table now.”

“You fucking coward, Blake, you ignorant— ”

“Leave, Gerard. You’ve insulted my family enough.”

“I will not leave you bastard—”

“Leave or I tell your wife abut Mona.”

This shut McTaggert up. His face turned a vivid shade of crimson, anger leaking from every pore in his body. He huffed, then roughly grabbed his wife to leave.

“You better watch your back, Blake. And tell the little whore that I’d like a go at taming her sometime.” He looked at Clarke, hungry, then turned and stalked out of the room.

Bellamy sat, gathering his composure.

“I am so sorry, all for the interruption of your meal. Please, continue.”

Slowly, the conversation sparked back up, the stares lifting away from Clarke and Bellamy.


End file.
